Hit the road this morning with a renewed sense of purpose. I'm hoping to get to Calistoga in California where Damian lives by tomorrow evening. I think I underestimated the distance from Carson to Calistoga. Its over 200 miles so two tough days are in store if I'm to get to Calistoga in the desired time. Its 130 miles to Sacramento across the Sierra Nevada. Even if I don't get to Sacramento tonight I want to push as close to it as I can in order lessen the number of miles for tomorrow. California is so close now it almost aches. But first things first. The Sierra Nevada await me just down the road.
Just outside Carson the road begins to rise sharply, twisting and turning into the mountains. The road is busy. A lot of traffic whizz past. There are a lot of roadworks which makes the cycling uncomfortable. The hard shoulder is frequently cordoned off or impassable, forcing me into the road. I don't like this as I'm an obstacle for motorists now and I don't like to antagonise drivers if at all possible, unless, of course, they antagonise me first.....
Higher up the road there is a newly laid lane cordoned off from the main traffic allowing me to escape the busy lane and enjoy the comfort of having a whole lane to myself. I get into a nice, steady rhythm and the climb progresses nicely. As the road rises the aroma of pine trees which scatter the mountain slopes scents the morning breeze. Its refreshing. The air is nice and cool on a bright sunny morning.
Carson city lies at about 4,600 feet, the lowest elevation I've been at for quite a while now. The climb up to the pass which would take me into the heart of the Sierra and along Lake Tahoe rises to 7,200 so it was a fair climb. The benefits of yesterdays rest really stood to me this morning. As did the extra half chicken I stuffed down for supper last night. Washed down with a litre of ice cold milk, sure, ya couldn't beat it. The descent from that was a good laugh. After a few minutes speeding down through pine clad slopes (well, after being blown out of the water by the bike and build group during the past week, perhaps the word 'speeding', in this case, was stretching it!!!) a gap opened in the mountains and through the the tops of the pine trees peeped the azure blue of lake Tahoe.
The road turned south to run through the forests which bordered the eastern shore of the lake. It was an idyllic setting. The only drawback was the swift moving traffic which, after the quiet of Highway 50 across Nevada to Carson, felt hectic and imposing. Every so often the trees thinned sufficiently to afford glimpses of a calm blue expanse. On the far shore stood the majestic peaks of the western Sierra. The lake looked beautiful, such a contrast to the fascinating but dry, barren wastes of Nevada and Utah. Tahoe is a wealthy playground with fine holiday homes dotted around the shores. Back in the sixties Frank Sinatra's son was kidnapped out of Reno, not too far from here, and held hostage somewhere in the vicinity of the lake.
I arrived at South Lake Tahoe, a very pretty resort town, on the southern shore whose style of buildings gave it a very Alpine feel. It felt wealthy. There were a lot of tourists milling about. The state border with California falls here and crossing it felt like a big step on the journey had been taken. I'm now into my last state. The final phase of the journey to the coast starts here. I take a break down by a sandy strand on the lake shore. I have a tub of cinnamon rice and a protein drink while I took in the views. It was gorgeous, a beautiful area.
Not delaying too long I still had a big climb to make in order to exit the mountains. I pushed through pine valleys for a time before the road rose once again into the mountains. As the road gained height the views were spectacular. A last glimpse of the valleys and lake Tahoe 20 miles distant was magnificent. The highest point on this climb and my last mountain pass was echo summit, standing at 7,300ft. I was informed its all downhill to Sacramaento from here.
The next 15 miles whizzed by through spectacular mountain gorges. I stopped at the tiny hamlet of Kyburz for some drinks. I liked the sign for the town. It welcomes you on one line and on the line beneath bids you farewell. Shortly after Kyburz the road began to level off. I chugged along for a few miles waiting for the next set of downhill slopes but instead, a couple of stiff climbs followed which took me completely off guard. This put me, briefly, into a foul humour. I'm so tired these days, and so eager to complete the journey its given me a tricky temper.
In the afternoon I started to fade. I'd done some decent climbs so far today but there was still a long way to go to Sacramento. The temperature was actually grand so I reckoned the climbs must have taken more out of than I'd thought. For a period I struggled. I was going slow but, of course, It wasn't me, I blamed it all on the bike. Bloody little Donkey!! If only I'd bought a good road bike I'd be at the coast by now. I wish, I wish, I wish. Go on, go on, go on!!
All this grumbling actually got me through a few tough miles. As the road exited the foothills of the Sierra Nevada the road dropped again into a gradual descent towards Sacramento which sits at sea level (eventhough its over 100 miles from the coast). It was as if the bike had had enough of my giving out. Feisty little beast!! It felt like it jumped, and then simply took off. For miles the cycling was effortless as the road descended down to elevations I hadn't been at for weeks. I stopped complaining.
I stopped for a cold drink at a petrol station and met another solo cyclist. A lad heading from San Francisco to New York where he hope to get a job and live. It was his third day out of San Fran and the realities of the road were starting to bite. I met him as he was mending a puncture. He was much more accepting of that little mishap than I ever am at this stage. When I get one now I go around for a couple of minutes acting like Basil Fawlty!! We chatted for a good while. He was a sound guy and the kind of personality I think I'd find comfortable to travel the road with. I've become quite wary of new personalities. I'm happy to meet people, but equally happy to head on if I'm not 100% comfortable around them. That sounds very picky but I'd prefer to go solo than have my head annoyed.
The lad had a lot of questions about the road ahead, food etc. It was good to talk to him and pass on any of the experiences I'd had. If they are benefit to him great. Like me he's finding he's spending more on food and drink than he had expected.
By 6pm I was at the town of Placerville. By now the road had become a very fast, busy 4-lane route. It wasn't an interstate so I had no qualms about being on it. Also, I was making good time. However I was encountering some agressive motorists now and one driver, travelling on the opposite carriageway shouted at me to "GET OFF THE ROAD!!". I felt safe and Brazen enough to give him my favourite 'West Brom' salute accompanied by the most commonly used insult on the terraces: W****R!!! (Sorry Mum, I know....... but I've heard a few choice words out of you too at Leitrim matches!!!). After that I began to feel uncomfortable on the road. I decided to stop for the night at Placerville, formerly known as Hangtown!! I'd done 90 miles but was still 40 miles short of Sacramento. The shortfall would simply have to be added on tomorrow, which means 115 miles. Come what may I will be in Calistoga tomorrow night.
Just outside Carson the road begins to rise sharply, twisting and turning into the mountains. The road is busy. A lot of traffic whizz past. There are a lot of roadworks which makes the cycling uncomfortable. The hard shoulder is frequently cordoned off or impassable, forcing me into the road. I don't like this as I'm an obstacle for motorists now and I don't like to antagonise drivers if at all possible, unless, of course, they antagonise me first.....
Higher up the road there is a newly laid lane cordoned off from the main traffic allowing me to escape the busy lane and enjoy the comfort of having a whole lane to myself. I get into a nice, steady rhythm and the climb progresses nicely. As the road rises the aroma of pine trees which scatter the mountain slopes scents the morning breeze. Its refreshing. The air is nice and cool on a bright sunny morning.
Carson city lies at about 4,600 feet, the lowest elevation I've been at for quite a while now. The climb up to the pass which would take me into the heart of the Sierra and along Lake Tahoe rises to 7,200 so it was a fair climb. The benefits of yesterdays rest really stood to me this morning. As did the extra half chicken I stuffed down for supper last night. Washed down with a litre of ice cold milk, sure, ya couldn't beat it. The descent from that was a good laugh. After a few minutes speeding down through pine clad slopes (well, after being blown out of the water by the bike and build group during the past week, perhaps the word 'speeding', in this case, was stretching it!!!) a gap opened in the mountains and through the the tops of the pine trees peeped the azure blue of lake Tahoe.
The road turned south to run through the forests which bordered the eastern shore of the lake. It was an idyllic setting. The only drawback was the swift moving traffic which, after the quiet of Highway 50 across Nevada to Carson, felt hectic and imposing. Every so often the trees thinned sufficiently to afford glimpses of a calm blue expanse. On the far shore stood the majestic peaks of the western Sierra. The lake looked beautiful, such a contrast to the fascinating but dry, barren wastes of Nevada and Utah. Tahoe is a wealthy playground with fine holiday homes dotted around the shores. Back in the sixties Frank Sinatra's son was kidnapped out of Reno, not too far from here, and held hostage somewhere in the vicinity of the lake.
I arrived at South Lake Tahoe, a very pretty resort town, on the southern shore whose style of buildings gave it a very Alpine feel. It felt wealthy. There were a lot of tourists milling about. The state border with California falls here and crossing it felt like a big step on the journey had been taken. I'm now into my last state. The final phase of the journey to the coast starts here. I take a break down by a sandy strand on the lake shore. I have a tub of cinnamon rice and a protein drink while I took in the views. It was gorgeous, a beautiful area.
Not delaying too long I still had a big climb to make in order to exit the mountains. I pushed through pine valleys for a time before the road rose once again into the mountains. As the road gained height the views were spectacular. A last glimpse of the valleys and lake Tahoe 20 miles distant was magnificent. The highest point on this climb and my last mountain pass was echo summit, standing at 7,300ft. I was informed its all downhill to Sacramaento from here.
The next 15 miles whizzed by through spectacular mountain gorges. I stopped at the tiny hamlet of Kyburz for some drinks. I liked the sign for the town. It welcomes you on one line and on the line beneath bids you farewell. Shortly after Kyburz the road began to level off. I chugged along for a few miles waiting for the next set of downhill slopes but instead, a couple of stiff climbs followed which took me completely off guard. This put me, briefly, into a foul humour. I'm so tired these days, and so eager to complete the journey its given me a tricky temper.
In the afternoon I started to fade. I'd done some decent climbs so far today but there was still a long way to go to Sacramento. The temperature was actually grand so I reckoned the climbs must have taken more out of than I'd thought. For a period I struggled. I was going slow but, of course, It wasn't me, I blamed it all on the bike. Bloody little Donkey!! If only I'd bought a good road bike I'd be at the coast by now. I wish, I wish, I wish. Go on, go on, go on!!
All this grumbling actually got me through a few tough miles. As the road exited the foothills of the Sierra Nevada the road dropped again into a gradual descent towards Sacramento which sits at sea level (eventhough its over 100 miles from the coast). It was as if the bike had had enough of my giving out. Feisty little beast!! It felt like it jumped, and then simply took off. For miles the cycling was effortless as the road descended down to elevations I hadn't been at for weeks. I stopped complaining.
I stopped for a cold drink at a petrol station and met another solo cyclist. A lad heading from San Francisco to New York where he hope to get a job and live. It was his third day out of San Fran and the realities of the road were starting to bite. I met him as he was mending a puncture. He was much more accepting of that little mishap than I ever am at this stage. When I get one now I go around for a couple of minutes acting like Basil Fawlty!! We chatted for a good while. He was a sound guy and the kind of personality I think I'd find comfortable to travel the road with. I've become quite wary of new personalities. I'm happy to meet people, but equally happy to head on if I'm not 100% comfortable around them. That sounds very picky but I'd prefer to go solo than have my head annoyed.
The lad had a lot of questions about the road ahead, food etc. It was good to talk to him and pass on any of the experiences I'd had. If they are benefit to him great. Like me he's finding he's spending more on food and drink than he had expected.
By 6pm I was at the town of Placerville. By now the road had become a very fast, busy 4-lane route. It wasn't an interstate so I had no qualms about being on it. Also, I was making good time. However I was encountering some agressive motorists now and one driver, travelling on the opposite carriageway shouted at me to "GET OFF THE ROAD!!". I felt safe and Brazen enough to give him my favourite 'West Brom' salute accompanied by the most commonly used insult on the terraces: W****R!!! (Sorry Mum, I know....... but I've heard a few choice words out of you too at Leitrim matches!!!). After that I began to feel uncomfortable on the road. I decided to stop for the night at Placerville, formerly known as Hangtown!! I'd done 90 miles but was still 40 miles short of Sacramento. The shortfall would simply have to be added on tomorrow, which means 115 miles. Come what may I will be in Calistoga tomorrow night.
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